


The One With the Lucky Flannel

by orphan_account



Category: letsplay, markiplier - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Markiplier - Freeform, markiplier imagines, markiplier preferences, markiplier smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:05:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7795690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your heart begins to race as you hear the front door close. With the light from the lamp in the corner of the room – your reading nook – the only source of light, you shift uncomfortably in the middle of the space between your bed and the door. Pulling at the hem of your – his – shirt, you run your fingers through you hair one last time as you hear your boyfriend call out from the bottom of the stairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One With the Lucky Flannel

Your heart begins to race as you hear the front door close. With the light from the lamp in the corner of the room – your reading nook – the only source of light, you shift uncomfortably in the middle of the space between your bed and the door. Pulling at the hem of your – _his_ – shirt, you run your fingers through you hair one last time as you hear your boyfriend call out from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m up here!” you shout, telling yourself to calm down. Why are you so nervous? It’s not like it’s your first date. You’ve been dating Mark for three years, but you always get excited when he comes home from a particularly long trip, and this time, you hadn’t seen him for a week and a half.

“Hey!” he comes through the door of your shared bedroom and immediately stops in his tracks. “Whoa,” he smiles, his eyes bright. “Holy shit. You found it!”

You nod and smile, remembering the frantic text messages he sent you from New York, saying that he could’ve sworn his lucky flannel was in his suitcase before he left. He _always_ packs his lucky flannel, and could you _please_ check the closets and the laundry room and the dirty clothes and let him know if you found it?!

You texted him that you couldn’t find it, when you had really swiped it from his suitcase a few minutes before he left for the airport. You planned on this moment – the look on his face – for the past week and a half.

And now, standing in front of him, wearing only his flannel, you’re excited to have him home again, but you’re more excited to see him receive you so well.

“Welcome home,” you smile, glancing down to make sure everything was still in place. Unbuttoned all the way open, his flannel lays softly across your breasts and down your torso, exposing just enough of everything to make him step toward you, his eyes glued to your body.

“This is so cool,” Mark laughs, grabbing your hips. “This is _so_ cool.”

You giggle, leaning into him. “So you’re not mad?”

“No,” he shakes his head aggressively, making his hair flop back and forth. “Not at all. Lucky flannel, girlfriend I haven’t seen in a week and a half wearing nothing but the lucky flannel…all good things, all good things. You look fucking hot.”

You smile once more, taking a step forward so that your torsos are touching. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he cups your face in his hand, lifting your gaze so you’re looking him in the eyes.

“I missed you,” he says softly, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“I missed you more,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him.

The best part about greeting Mark when he got back from a trip was the initial kiss you shared when the two of you were reunited. You, no matter how many times you’d kissed him over the past three years, somehow forgot how his lips felt on yours. Having him back in your arms and his lips on yours felt so familiar, you moaned into the kiss when he slipped his tongue over your lower lip. Moving his right hand to the back of your head and his left underneath your ass, he pulls you to him as your tongues move over one another.

Your stomach flutters as he backs you up against the bed until your calves are touching the mattress. He slowly lays you onto the down comforter, his left arm gently holding your weight. As soon as both of you are laying down, Mark readjusts so that you’re sprawled out diagonally across the bed, his flannel still concealing your breasts.

You sigh as he kisses your cheeks, your jawline, your chin, your neck, your collarbone – you love it all. He makes his way down your body slowly, until he gets to the buttons of his infamous shirt that are splayed across your chest. He kisses between your breasts and moves both sides of the plaid fabric away from your body so that you are now fully exposed to him. He smirks before beginning his assault on your nipples, causing your hands to find his hair and pull, your torso arching off of the bed.

Mark busies himself with kissing up and down your body, stopping at a few key places to jut his tongue out and make you moan effortlessly. He holds your hips down to the mattress while he spreads your legs with his knees, the bulge underneath his sweatpants obviously apparent. He swipes a long, lithe finger between your folds and you gasp in response, quick to put your knees together at the sensation.

Mark goes to open your knees again, but before he can make his way to your pelvis, you hold his shoulder in an attempt to stop him.

“Baby,” you whisper. “You just got home. You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to,” he scoffs, taking your hand off of his shoulder. “I want to. I really, really want to,” he says as he removes his shirt and slides his sweatpants and boxer-briefs down his legs. You smirk at the hard-on he’s acquired. “You look way too good in that shirt for me not to.”

He kisses you on the lips twice more before making himself comfortable between your thighs, his face only two inches away from your crotch. You can feel his breath tickle the inner-most part of your thigh as he kisses around your folds, and you relax as you remember _yes,_ you did some much-needed landscaping in the shower today.

When Mark’s tongue makes contact with a very special bundle of nerves, you grab onto his hair again, sharply inhaling a breath that gets caught in your throat. He relishes in the sounds you make for him, and you know it. He moves both of your thighs so that they’re on his bare shoulders, and while you worry that the only thing he’s breathing in is – well, your vagina – he doesn’t seem to worry about it at all.

You yank the longer hairs on the very top of his head and gasp loudly when he inserts two of his fingers – those fingers that you _love so much_ – into you. While he continues his attack with his tongue and fingers, you cross your ankles at his back and writhe beneath him. In an attempt to hold you down, puts both of his forearms at your waist and laces his fingers together, just above his head, but not before he licks your taste off of his fingers. This act alone is enough to push you over the edge.

Mark, still holding you down while the reverberations of your orgasm run through you, kisses up your torso until he meets your eyes again. Neither of you say a word and you pull him to you by the back of his neck, crashing his lips down onto yours. Although you can taste yourself on him, you don’t mind. The way your tongues tangle together, the way you moan into each other’s mouths, the way your body heat mixes and mingles with him – it’s all too much after not being able to touch him for ten days.

He makes his way beneath you so that your thighs are on either side of his torso, all the while your lips still attached to his. He reaches back and slides himself into you, causing you to break from the kiss and let out a simple, “Oh,” before he moves his hips up and into you, creating a friction that allows you to feel every movement within you.

You lean back on top of him, your hair cascading down your back, the ends touching Mark’s thighs. He moves the flannel away from the middle of your upper body, permitting him to watch you ride him, all the while grasp onto the sides of his lucky shirt, maintaining the slow pattern you’ve started.

“I would’ve come home sooner if I knew I’d be looking at this all night,” he moans, leaning his head back fully into the pillows beneath him. He closes his eyes as you grind down on his cock and moan, the feeling of him being fully inside of you overwhelming and beautiful.

You begin to start a rhythm after leaning forward, balancing your weight by placing both palms on your boyfriend’s chest. You look him in the eyes as you do so, biting your lip to keep from screaming out obscenities and various other offensive statements, mostly about deities neither of you prescribe to.

“Fuck, baby,” you moan at the sounds your bodies are making together. Mark groans, grabbing onto your hips and slamming you down on top of him. You cry out in pleasure mixed with an insignificant amount of pain, and when he begins to thumb your clit, you stop riding him and curl your body into him with pleasure.

“C’mon,” he moans. “Come for me.”

The sound that comes from you can only be described as a wail, and while you begin to move up and down on his cock once more, you steady yourself by pressing your hands up against the wall behind the bed. Mark grunts below you as the two of you come together, a mess of moans, sweat, and euphoria.

You roll over so that you’re next to him, his flannel covering only half of your chest, now. Both of you breathe heavily as you try to catch your breath, and when Mark turns to look at you, you smile, caressing his cheek.

“Luckiest flannel in the goddamn land,” he declares, pumping his fist in the air.


End file.
